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My mouth opens in a scream, but another hand claps over the bottom half of my face. I'm tugged against a body, into the shadows, next to a statue.
"There's a pretty girl," a barely-familiar man's voice croons. My eyes flicker up to his face, what I can see of it.
It's Lord Frisco. My heart shatters in my chest from beating so hard and I kick at him, scrabbling at his hands to get free.
"Yes, fight me," he hisses, "I like it best when they fight." Panic flares in my chest and I bite down on his hand, blood-metal taste exploding in my mouth as my teeth cut his palm. "Stupid bitch," he snarls, letting go for a moment. I get only two feet away when he's grabbed me again, shoving me into the wall. His hands pin my wrists above my head, nails digging into the skin until I let out a choked sob.
His breath his heavy with wine, and I choke on the miasma of it as he presses his body into mine.
"I'd fuck you here in the hall; it's all your good for," he growls out, thrusting his hips against mine. The hard chair-rail of wood behind me slams into my lower back, which blossoms with red-hot pain.
He smirks, biting his lip before he leans in, to kiss me, to do something—
I slam my head forward, catching him right below the eye, and he howls, dropping me. Bolting past him, I run, rabbiting down the hall. Around a corner, in the darkness, this wing barely lit with all the entertaining outside and in the drawing room for the evening. But someone has to be here. Someone has to hear something. Someone has to—
A body is in front of me and I skid to a halt, nearly banging into them, and look up. It's Wilder.
"What're you running for?" He asks, and I gulp. He smirks. "Oh is it a game?" He looks behind me. "Who's chasing you? That's dangerous. The duke'll have you out on your ass for entertaining with his guests."
I shake my head and push past him. There's no explaining anything to him.
The library is up ahead, it's large doors still open. That will be my refuge, for now, until I can call for help on my—
My phone.
As I skid into the library, pulling the doors shut behind me, I realize my phone is upstairs, besides Maddie's bed, where she's sleeping.
The doors slide shut, and I'm in the darkness. Alone, and utterly vulnerable.
24
Eva
The doors opening crack my heart into two. Frisco is coming for me, and there’s nothing between him and me but a bunch of books. I’ve run to the back of the library, hoping to find safety in the stacks, but I know it’s a matter of time.
Before he finds me.
Before he gets his hands on me.
My nose burns with the hint of tears, and my eyes threaten to water. Is there anything that I can use to protect myself?
“Where are you, pretty girl?” His voice is a hoarse whisper, and my heart races, stumbling over itself, my whole body threatening to shake. The smell of old papers envelopes me as I try to sink into the bookcase, the leather spines of books soft under my touch as I press against them.
“Come on, don’t fuck around,” he’s losing patience, and his footsteps are muffled, his voice bouncing off tens of thousands of books. I close my eyes and do the closest thing I can to praying because if God is real, he’ll pull me out of this situation. The scratches on my wrists are burning, and my cheeks are just ashot. I want to cry, but I can’t. Any noise I make—
A light flickers down at the end of the stack that I’m hiding in, and I clench my hand around my mouth, to stop myself gasping.
“The fuck is that bitch,” he mutters to himself, his voice slurring with the alcohol. I can almost smell it down at the end here, too. I reach for a book, something with sharp, rigid corners. Maybe I can use it to defend myself, throw it at him, anything—
His footsteps lurch toward me, and a light flares in my eyes, blinding me.
“Why’d you hide?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know, his tone sing-song. I stumble back, holding the book up to stop the light from his phone from keeping me sightless, blinking away spots in my vision as I do. “You know you can scream,” he purrs, within ten feet of me. I tense up, ready to strike. He’s drunk, I’m sober, and even if hitting him is an offense— I’ll do it.
“They won’t come running,” he whispers. Five feet. My arms are shaking. He’s vile. Closer, closer—
He reaches out for me and I lunge forward, smashing the book down on his hand. Light flashes through the air as the phone hits the ground.
“Bit—” He chokes off his next word as I slam the book onto his head, flat front first. He staggers, stunned, and I dart around him, dropping the book at his feet as I run.
